In the offing

This phrase is quite simple to understand once you know that ‘the offing’ is the part of the sea that can be seen from land, excluding those parts that are near the shore. Early texts also refer to it as ‘offen’ or ‘offin’. A ship that was about to arrive was “in the offing”, therefore imminent, which is how the phrase is used today.

im on book two of the aubrey-maturin series. i desperately need to set foot in a naval museum i can't take it anymore

watched the james somerton video by todd in the shadows and the claim that pissed me off the most that pirates were "proto leftists who invested in their infrastructure neglected by their authorities like schools" THEY OWNED SLAVES. SOCIAL PROGRESS WAS NOT IN THEIR AGENDA AS THIEVES AND VIOLENT ORGANISED CRIMINALS. THIS ISNT ONE PIECE

Margaret Parangosky. As ugly as she is an asshole.

I wonder how many times Luffy fell into the sea just because he tried to pee while standing on the railing.

Was watching a video on geopolitics in d&d and the person I was watching cited that China never had a very strong naval presence and I’m like did I learn wrong……? I thought they used to/still do (but more with shipping goods out now I guess) ? am I baka.

Now that I’ve drawn Kay and Brennan in a more painterly style I was reminded that I drew them roughly about 2 years ago when those two + Ryeland were the only members of the ghost ship crew with actual personalities

And I wanted to see how I improved

Well then, I feel like I’ve improved a tiny bit! And also I decided to change up where the chains are since I decided to add three more ghost officers

I mean I still don’t know how to shade and also I did not know where to look for reference pictures of their uniforms so everyone just got. Pirate longcoats?

Also the shadows behind Brennan and Kay are… well my thoughts in relation to those have changed a little bit, but it will Be A While before I write what’s up with those

Also i dont know why Brennan is wearing a tiny beret

THERES a Benthan uniform kink fic FUCK YOU PEOPLE I THOUGHT YALL WERE MY FRIENDS HOW AM I ONLY READING THIS NOW

i have no idea what the inverse/evil version of virtual jupiter could be. not inverse/evil but could have a bit of a mullet

I got curious about timezones and like who is first into each day and last into each day and apparently first is Kiribati, and then American Samoa is last. Except American Samoa is BETWEEN Kiribati and New Zealand which is one of the next “first” countries. AND Samoa is in almost the same time zone as Kiribati, a full day ahead of American Samoa even though Samoa is only like 100km WEST of American Samoa. Did the US really just go, “you’re in our timezone” despite the actual American Samoan landmass being in the wrong fucking place to do that??

Overwhelm...

We actually only know this term from the emotional or mental realm. That is, when someone is overwhelmed by their feelings. But originally it had a different meaning.The term comes from the middle english word whelven, which means to turn upside down, a vessel is said to be overwhelmed when she has capsized or has turned upside down in the water. 

(x)

In the 17th century, the term capsized appeared more and more, until it finally replaced overwhelmed in nautical terms and this term slipped into the emotional world.

Y'know...

I've recently had this burning inclination to grow through every piece of writing I've ever made, find every instance I've ever used the word 'destroyer', and change it to... something I'll have to come up with. For consistency's sake. Or something. Holy crap that would be stupid. I'm not doing it. Absolutely not---

Informed Yemeni sources reveal to The Cradle that the US offered Sanaa – in exchange for its neutrality in the ongoing Gaza war – “an acknowledgment of its legitimacy.” This would involve severely reducing the role of the Saudi-backed Presidential Council led by Rashid al-Alimi and accelerating the signing of a roadmap with Riyadh and Abu Dhabi to end the aggression against Yemen. The sources further reveal that the Americans pledged to immediately release withheld Yemeni public sector salaries from the National Saudi Bank, lift the country’s siege entirely, reopen Sanaa Airport, ease restrictions on the port of Hodeidah, and facilitate a comprehensive prisoner exchange agreement with all involved parties. In terms of reconstruction, the sources say: [Washington] pledged to repair the damages, remove foreign forces from all occupied Yemeni lands and islands, and remove Ansarallah from the State Department’s ‘terrorism list’ – as soon as they stop their attacks in support of Gaza. Despite these tempting offers, which have been the subject of negotiations between Sanaa and Riyadh for over two years, the Yemenis remained steadfast. Ansarallah leader Abdel Malik al-Houthi’s consistent position, as reiterated in his speeches, has been to continue operations as long as Israeli aggression against Gaza persists.

Despite Sparta’s reputation for superior fighting, Spartan armies were as likely to lose battles as to win them, especially against peer opponents such as other Greek city-states. Sparta defeated Athens in the Peloponnesian War—but only by accepting Persian money to do it, reopening the door to Persian influence in the Aegean, which Greek victories at Plataea and Salamis nearly a century early had closed. Famous Spartan victories at Plataea and Mantinea were matched by consequential defeats at Pylos, Arginusae, and ultimately Leuctra. That last defeat at Leuctra, delivered by Thebes a mere 33 years after Sparta’s triumph over Athens, broke the back of Spartan power permanently, reducing Sparta to the status of a second-class power from which it never recovered. Sparta was one of the largest Greek city-states in the classical period, yet it struggled to achieve meaningful political objectives; the result of Spartan arms abroad was mostly failure. Sparta was particularly poor at logistics; while Athens could maintain armies across the Eastern Mediterranean, Sparta repeatedly struggled to keep an army in the field even within Greece. Indeed, Sparta spent the entirety of the initial phase of the Peloponnesian War, the Archidamian War (431-421 B.C.), failing to solve the basic logistical problem of operating long term in Attica, less than 150 miles overland from Sparta and just a few days on foot from the nearest friendly major port and market, Corinth. The Spartans were at best tactically and strategically uncreative. Tactically, Sparta employed the phalanx, a close-order shield and spear formation. But while elements of the hoplite phalanx are often presented in popular culture as uniquely Spartan, the formation and its equipment were common among the Greeks from at least the early fifth century, if not earlier. And beyond the phalanx, the Spartans were not innovators, slow to experiment with new tactics, combined arms, and naval operations. Instead, Spartan leaders consistently tried to solve their military problems with pitched hoplite battles. Spartan efforts to compel friendship by hoplite battle were particularly unsuccessful, as with the failed Spartan efforts to compel Corinth to rejoin the Spartan-led Peloponnesian League by force during the Corinthian War. Sparta’s military mediocrity seems inexplicable given the city-state’s popular reputation as a highly militarized society, but modern scholarship has shown that this, too, is mostly a mirage. The agoge, Sparta’s rearing system for citizen boys, frequently represented in popular culture as akin to an intense military bootcamp, in fact included no arms training or military drills and was primarily designed to instill obedience and conformity rather than skill at arms or tactics. In order to instill that obedience, the older boys were encouraged to police the younger boys with violence, with the result that even in adulthood Spartan citizens were liable to settle disputes with their fists, a tendency that predictably made them poor diplomats. But while Sparta’s military performance was merely mediocre, no better or worse than its Greek neighbors, Spartan politics makes it an exceptionally bad example for citizens or soldiers in a modern free society. Modern scholars continue to debate the degree to which ancient Sparta exercised a unique tyranny of the state over the lives of individual Spartan citizens. However, the Spartan citizenry represented only a tiny minority of people in Sparta, likely never more than 15 percent, including women of citizen status (who could not vote or hold office). Instead, the vast majority of people in Sparta, between 65 and 85 percent, were enslaved helots. (The remainder of the population was confined to Sparta’s bewildering array of noncitizen underclasses.) The figure is staggering, far higher than any other ancient Mediterranean state or, for instance, the antebellum American South, rightly termed a slave society with a third of its people enslaved.

our flag means death but i've never watched it

Hey OFMD fandom, the Ineffable fandom sends their Mascot. I was supposed to do this many days ago, but the OFMD tag on tumblr was filled with... things. This time, I gained my knowledge from Pinterest instead, and I, Asmi, of the Good Omens Fandom, am rooting for you all!

THAT BEING SAID. WHAT THE DEVIL IS THIS SHOW MEANT TO BE? AS USUAL, I UNDERSTAND ABSOLUTELY NOTHING DESPITE MY BEST EFFORTS, BUT TAKE A SUMMARY ANYWAY:

It is gay. Of this at least, I am very sure.

There are pirates. The pirates are the above gays.

There is a guy named Ed who is Blackbeard, and he is very soft and shares trauma and has grey hair.

He is in love with Stede, who writes him bottle letters and throws them away.

Ed is not happy about the throwing away part. I think he wanted to read the letters.

They read the letters together.

There is a guy named Lucius and someone kisses him and they do a victory punch. They break up because of fish.

Someone named Izzy has a redemption arc.

There are colonisers. They are British. This makes sense, at least.

The colonisers are not homophobic, they merely find love pathetic.

In the 1600s male pirates married each other and that's where the term 'matey' originated. I do not know. This is what Pinterest yelled at me.

Uh Ed pulled a Crowley on Stede and instead of Alpha Centauri asked him to run away to China with him.

Stede ran away from him instead.

Izzy was not a father figure to Ed. Discuss. It is something involving horniness and unrequited love.

Izzy died.

Ed was upset under a blanket. Stede respected this.

Ed built a blanket fort. Is this a running theme?

I understood nothing more because I can't make out whether 'ship' refers to relationship or the actual fucking ship. What does 'Steve does fixing in the ship' MEAN IS THIS MARRIAGE COUNSELLING OR NAVAL ENGINEERING?

EVEN THOUGH I UNDERSTOOD NOTHING, THIS SEEMS LIKE A GAY FUCKING DISASTER. RENEW IT. GO SLAY OFMD THE GOOD OMENS FANDOM IS BEHIND YOU.

Mutual Masturbation with Joel Miller? 👀 could we be so lucky ??

-ˋˏ 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐌 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 ˎˊ

— pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

— word count: 1k

— warnings: mutual masturbation, [Snape voice] “obviously”. voyeurism, dirty talk, the ol’ switcharoo at the end. Not proof read.

joel miller masterlist || main masterlist

Fuckin- It was so fucking hot.

The sunshine thumps through the windscreen and into the black interior of the pickup truck. Appropriated by Bill to finish this smuggling mission, Joel insisted the battery wouldn’t survive the journey to Pittsburgh if he turned on the air conditioning. Not even for a second.

Sticky. You’re sweltering, the beads of sweat sticking the fabric of your linen shirt to every inch of your torso. Rolling your head back against the headrest, you let out a soft whine of complaint. It’s not even the suffocating Pennsylvania temperatures that tortured you anymore. No, it’s the ardent pulse settling between your thighs. It’s Joel.

His eyes are settled on the dusty road, watching intently for hunters who might be stupid enough to tempt fate. He’s so calm that you’d be forgiven for thinking the heat doesn’t affect him at all if it wasn’t for the sheen of sweat that glossed over the skin of his brow, the wetness in his hair.

You can smell him. Joel smells like musk, like dirt, a tinge of whiskey that he always liked to drink and the bite of death- the sweet tang before decay. It shouldn’t be attractive, shouldn’t even be pleasant, but it’s Joel, and it makes your heart slam against your ribs as you swallow back how much you need him.

“Stop your scowlin’,” Joel’s voice is throaty, half asleep after hours of silence settles between the two of you. The engine's rumble nearly drowns him out, but you hear him.

“M’not,” you rebuke, keeping your eyes forward and avoiding the silver of the wing mirror where you would no doubt find his tawny eyes boring into you. Your answer is quick, too quick, and suspicious.

“No?”

“Nope.”

God, you want to fuck him so bad.

Hesitating momentarily, you finally pull your eyes over to his body. His knuckles drape over the steering wheel, delicate with the leather. The denim of his jeans is dark with his sweat, sticking so closely to him you can see his thigh muscles shift when he pushes down on the accelerator. There’s a bead of perspiration running down his throat, dribbling down the collarbone exposed by his open shirt, and you whimper when it soaks into the fabric because you would have licked him clean-

“Can touch yourself, f’you want.”

Joel’s tone is so lazy it almost masks how filthy his suggestion is. Your attention snaps up to the wing mirror, finding those deep irises settled on your expression.

“I’m not—“ you scoff, but Joel jerks his head just slightly. ‘No’.

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart,” he insists, the term of endearment dripping with patronisation, “You’ve been rubbin’ your thighs together since we joined the highway.”

Swallowing thickly, you smother your denial like Joel suffocates your propriety. The air is no longer pulsing with heat but with tension. Joel’s waiting, watching for you to give in. Fuck, you’re buzzing.

You can’t anymore.

Shoving your fingers down your cargo pants, you graze your fingers over the seam of your panties and let out a trembling breath of relief. They’re soaked, your cunt practically dripping.

“Don’t you stop,” Joel insists, and when you glance up, you can see his knuckles are white against the steering wheel now, his eyes flicking between the road and the reflection of your pleasure.

You aim to appease him, rubbing your throbbing clit with the pads of your fingers and melting into the humming pleasure it elicits. Brows pinched together, you push your body back into the seat and rock your hips upwards.

“Unbutton them.”

You do. You raise your free hand and pop the button above your naval, using the free space to work your hand under the elastic of your panties and roll the drag of your fingers over your clit.

“Joel-“ you exhale shakily, body trembling with need.

His right-hand breaks from the wheel, palming himself through his jeans and squeezing at his growing erection while he watches you.

“C’mon Darlin’. Keep goin’,” he whispers, unzipping his jeans and working his cock out of his boxers. “You look so fuckin’ good; look at your tits.”

He’s rambling, talking so much more than he usually does. In your haze, you wonder if he’s got heat stroke.

Joel slams on the brakes, jolting you forward in your seat. What the fuck?! Your free hand darts out to hold the dash, gasping his name in shock.

“Joel-!”

“Fuck-“ he rasps, paying no mind to your half-hearted reprimand. His hand reaches over to cup at your breast and squeeeze. The linen of your shirt is see-through with your sweat, sticking to your skin and pert nipples showing through. He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger, letting out a thick moan as he ruts into his fist.

Joel is so sexy like this. It’s like he’s lost his mind, fucking his fist and squeezing his weeping head. His greying hair is slick with sweat, swept back against his skull. A burgundy flush tints his cheeks, blurring the sun spots on the bridge of his nose and the peaks of his face.

“Joel,” you whisper, watching him roll his hips upwards, seeing him swipe his thumb over the head of his cock and swear the precum across the reddening skin. “Joel, tell me what you need.”

You ask because it’s obvious. The burning arousal, the building orgasm as you tease your clit, the need you’d felt since you joined 83. None of it had compared to the desperation Joel had been so expertly hiding from you.

He tremors, sweat weeping down his temple as he shuts his eyes, tilting his face towards the car's roof. You can see him thinking, can see him chastising himself and recalling that it’s a bad idea to sleep with your snuggling partner.

“Joel.”

“Fuckin’ come’ere,” he gasps out like he’ll die if he’s not inside you within a second. Joel’s lips are crashing onto yours, bruising them as he grasps your hips and hoists you across the console to the driver's side.

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